The war babies by Ralph Jones

middle of the night lasers flashingsounds of bombs and buildings crashingchildren wake, scared and screamingparents wishing that they were dreaming

living through their worst nightmarewishing they were someplace else, but not thereall around them buildings ablazeair full of a blue misty, murky, cloudy haze

sky seems full of fighter jetsas missiles are sent up to try and interceptstreets full of rubble and carnagenot a sight for children, of such a young age

but death and bloodshed, to them is a way of lifethey know of nothing else, they know only of strifeso much bloodshed and hatred, through young eyes they seedeath and destruction all around, a future shrouded in misery

these children, born into war torn zonesome with no family, or homes, on the streets all alonechildren destined for a life of miserychildren who are just war babies

they never asked to be bornfor bombs to be dropped uponto see parents and family dieand even at such a young age, they ask “why”?

why does there have to be war?what is war for?if only the war mongers would tryAnd look at things through a child’s eyes

and maybe then the fighting, that has gone on for yearscould end, and the children would have no more tearsso, they could sleep peacefully in their bedsand not wake up to carnage, and more relative’s dead

but these children, who only fighting they knowwho survive the bombs and lasers as they groware taught this is their life, and become the next war mongersand leave the crying behind, for those much younger